


Newbie

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Justified
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Needs a hug tho, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rachel is an angel, Raylan's poor parenting skills at work, Tim is a cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Tim is the new guy at the office. Sure, Raylan was technically the last man to join the team, but he’s a native of Harlan and a seasoned marshal, so no one sees him as a newbie. This leaves Tim at the receiving end of sucky cases and coffee runs. No one would admit it to his face, but they also feel they need to protect him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Newbie

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Just got some Tim feels. :)

Rachel looks at Tim sometimes and she sees a boy in him. His eyes are too vulnerable for a guy who’s been through what he has. Some of the things he says are too dark and morbid to not hold a hint of his past in them. Tim is young compared to many of the people in the office, and they all know he saw too much in the military. Sure, he’s a sniper and knows what it’s like to kill someone, but he is also under a lot of pressure as a new marshal. He wants to prove himself, but also feels he shouldn’t have to. 

And sometimes.... Sometimes, those eyes of his are without focus, and then she can tell he’s stuck in his own head. That’s why, when Rachel comes in to work and sees him staring blankly at his computer screen, she turns around to go to the nearest coffee shop. 

Raylan steps out of the elevator when she steps in. “Rachel?” 

“I think I’ll make the coffee run today. Tim looks like he’s having a bit of a rough morning, so I’m going let him take a load off.” 

The older man looks mildly concerned. “Should I, uh, try to cheer him up a little?” 

“If you think you can. Otherwise, I wouldn’t say anything to him.” 

Raylan opens the door to the bullpen, tugging his hat from his head and dropping it on the corner of his desk. “Morning, Gutterson.” 

“Raylan.” 

“How’s the day treatin’ you so far?” 

Tim rolls back in his chair, turning his unshakable gaze on his fellow marshal. Though he looked emotionless and cold only a moment before, his expression animates a little with Raylan’s question. “Well, I’m at work and you’re here to pester me. What does that tell you?” 

His tone is annoyed, but his eyes are full of gratitude. Raylan silently reminds himself to check on Tim more often. 

“It tells me you’re in need of coffee.” 

His stiffens a bit and slides back farther from his desk. “Damn. I forgot all about it being my turn this morning. I don’t know if anyone’ll cover for me while I -” 

Raylan points to the door. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Tim. I think Rachel’s got ya' covered already.” 

Tim shifts, looking to the woman in question. He never even noticed her leave. “Rachel?” 

“Gutterson.” 

She puts a carton of coffee down on her desk, placing hers square in the middle of the space and handing one to Tim. She picks up the last two, crossing over to Raylan’s desk and then to Art’s office. She seems happy as can be to be doing something that wasn’t her responsibility this morning. Tim’s brow is furrowed the entire time, even when she gets back to her desk. 

Normally, he’d never question coffee, but she also places a brown paper bag on his desk. 

She returns to her work as if nothing is wrong, only smiling softly when she catches him looking at her. He turns away, blinking at the bag.

Trusting Rachel not to have handed him a bomb, he peers inside. A perfect cinnamon roll stares up at him. Thick white frosting covers the top. He pulls it out, placing it on one of the three napkins tucked neatly into the bottom of the bag. 

He doesn’t catch Raylan smirking at him. 

Apparently, he’s more subtle than Rachel, since Tim knows she glances over from time to time. He drinks his coffee, finding that it’s just the way he likes it. Tim takes a bite of the roll, almost letting out a pleased moan. It’s perfect, and he’s willing to bet every dollar he has that Rachel knew it would be. 

A spark of vulnerability hits him and he has to put his food down. 

He looks at Rachel out of the corner of his eye. It’s not unusual for him to do that to anyone in the office, but Rachel and Raylan more than most. As much as he feigns disinterest the majority of the time, they’re the two most interesting people in his job. He wants to know how she figured out he was spacing off. 

He _really_ wants to know how Rachel got out of the bullpen without him noticing. He was in his own head, but he’s not blind. 

“Raylan.” 

The Harlan boy turns to Art. “Yeah?” 

“Get in here, and close the door behind you.” 

Tim smiles, leaning towards Raylan’s desk as he picks up his hat. “Hey. I’m starting to think you’re a blond trapped in a burnet's body. Every time you get called to that office, it’s fer’ some dumb shit or other.” 

“Real funny, Tim.” He pauses as he’s about to pass his desk. “Hey, Tim?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You get into trouble while I’m gone -” 

Tim grins as he and Raylan speak at the same time. “Talk to Rachel.” 

******* 

Art tries his best to keep an eye on Tim. On his best days, he can still be twitchy. The way he looks at some people.... Honestly, it’s safer if the criminals never have Tim’s full attention. It feels like he’s picking at their armor, pulling pieces of them out and analyzing everything he finds. 

If he doesn’t like what he sees, he can only guess what Tim would do. He almost never acts on what he feels, so the results would likely be terrifying. 

Art described Tim to Raylan once as a ticking time bomb. 

Thankfully, he thinks the description is inaccurate as he looks at Tim now. He’s sitting outside on a park bench, people-watching. Art is keeping an eye on him from the edge of the sidewalk where he’s parked. They’d been in the car for eleven hours straight on the way up with a convicted criminal, five more hours headed back, and Tim was more than a little cagey. Art had to let him out for a while. 

Raylan might have slept through the trip, but Tim? Tim is always watching. 

Tim pulls one of his knees up, lifting an arm to rest his head on. He closes his eyes, quietly listening to himself breathe in the blowing wind. If Art didn’t know any better, he’d say the kid got a bit car-sick. Might explain why he was so eager to get out of the car.

“Tim.” 

He turns his head a bit, the only clue he’s listening. 

“We need to get going.” 

His charge shifts away again, half-lidded eyes taking in the moving people around him. The only thing vaguely of interest is the lady with her dog. When he decides there still aren’t any threats, he closes his eyes and drawls, “Just a few more minutes, Art.” 

Art waits twenty. 

Tim gets back into the car on his own, staying quiet as he leans towards the window. He knows he wouldn’t usually slouch in any way shape or form, but he’s exhausted. He doesn’t know why. 

“Gutterson?” 

“Art.” 

The old man sighs. “Look.... I’m not trying to tell you I don’t think you’re capable, but everyone needs a break sometimes. If you need -” 

“Art, I think if I really needed a break, I’d tell you about it. I just wanted to get some air.” 

Putting the car in drive, Art gets them back on the interstate. “Okay, kid. Whatever you say. But, uh, time comes you ever do think you want a breather, all you gotta do is ask.” 

“Yessir.” 

******* 

Art told Raylan a long time ago Tim was likely borderline alcoholic. He’d just never thought he would witness the evidence for himself. Tim Gutterson is a very private person, after all. 

But.... Raylan got a call from him not fifteen minutes ago, and he sounded absolutely wasted. 

_Lo’?_ _Rayl’n_ _? I c-could use a ride home._

He walks into the bar, tipping his hat back so he can see a little better. First person he spots is the bartender and he looks Raylan up and down. 

“Yup. You’re a cowboy, all right. Your buddy’s back there in his usual spot.” He points at a dark corner. “Said he called you.” 

Raylan saunters towards the back of the bar, finding his partner settled at a table with his head resting on his arms. He knocks on the glossy wooden tabletop. “Hey, buddy. Ready to go home?” 

Tim lifts his head, startled. The effort makes him dizzy and he lowers his head again. “Raylan.” 

“You doin’ all right?” 

“Mmph.” 

He offers Raylan an arm to help him up with and soon he’s on his feet. Tim stumbles, groaning at the sudden motion. Raylan holds him steady. Tim only falters again when it comes to getting into the truck, struggling even with Raylan’s help. 

“All right, buddy. Work with me here.” 

“M’ tryin’. S-Sorry.” 

Raylan pulls his hat off, dropping it into the seat as he pushes Tim inside the vehicle. As soon as the door is closed, the ranger is leaning against it. He’s not sleeping, always too aware for that, but he’s definitely not catching everything he should be. 

The drive doesn’t take long at all. Raylan might be concerned at his proximity to a bar, but he’s not one to judge. He lived over one, after all. 

“Tim, we’re at your apartment.” Raylan says, putting his hat back on as he steps out. 

The man in question lets out a quiet inquisitive noise, letting Raylan drag him up to his home. Much as he tries to help, his body isn’t working properly. It’s been awhile since he’s been helpless, but, for some reason, he feels like he can trust Raylan. If the man was planning on betraying them all, he would likely make more of an effort to stay out of the spotlight. Or, at the very least, not draw so much attention to himself. A guy bent on killing them would definitely want to avoid Tim’s scrupulous gaze. 

Course, at this point, that could be pride talkin’. 

“You gon’ kill me, Raylan?” slips out of his mouth unbidden. 

The hat-wearing marshal’s eyes widen before his brow furrows with concern. “You kiddin’ me, Gutterson?” 

“Nope.” 

Almost as soon as the door is closed behind then, Raylan stumbles over Tim, dropping him rather hard on the floor. Thankfully, the younger deputy is too drunk to mind. 

“Ouch.” 

Raylan crouches next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You know.... I might not be the best person to take advice from, but we both know this isn’t healthy.” 

“You don’ gotta tell me, Rayl’n.” 

“I know I don’t. You’re a smart kid. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Tim scoffs. “You ever been t’ war? Think it’s a bit late fer’ that. I-I’ve killed people, seen my buddies die right ‘side me. You ask me, drinkin’s a muscch safer occupation.” 

So, that’s what this is about. 

“Tim?” 

The older marshal says his name with gentle concern, enough to put a crack in Tim’s bravado. “Yeah?” He hates the way his voice breaks when he speaks. 

“You know I’m not gonna hurt you, right?” 

He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore, so he nods. 

Raylan’s answer is soft. “Okay.” 

He looks at Tim, taking in the way he’s sitting on the floor. It’s careless, legs splayed in front of him as he tries to sit up straight. The effort is weak. It’s clear to Raylan that he’s hurting, but it’s not clear what he can do about it. He doesn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, and his paternal instincts from Arlo are... _lacking_ , to say in the least. 

Thankfully, Raylan remembers his mother consoling him she was young. He never thought he’d have to use what little he learned. 

He sits down on the floor on Tim’s right, facing him in the solitude of his apartment. It was a wonder he managed to hit the light switch when they stumbled inside the room. He reaches with careful movement, wrapping his arms over Tim’s shoulders. As expected, Tim stiffens until he’s rigid as a board. _How long has it been since anyone's touched him with peaceful intent? Or at all?_ Raylan pulls one hand to the back of Tim’s head, trying to soothe the younger man. 

He isn’t even sure how he knows Tim needs it. 

Tim says nothing, but Raylan still quiets him. When the younger man finally responds, Raylan barely feels him move. His left hand curls into the jean-jacket on the hat-wearing marshal’s back and his other around his ribcage. 

The ranger takes in a sharp breath, cutting off his first sob before it can leave his mouth. 

“It’s okay, Tim.” 

A scant whisper leaves the young soldier. “ _No.”_

Raylan pulls Tim closer with gentle encouragement, the fingers at the back of Tim’s head carding through his hair. “Let go. If you don’t, whatever’s goin’ on is gonna destroy you.” 

The apartment is quiet for the longest time, but soon enough, Tim starts shaking. Funnily enough, Tim never thought himself the type. He’s never been anything but steady. If he’s being honest with himself, the change hurts. Or maybe it’s shame burning through him. Tim can only guess. 

If nothing else, this reminds Raylan of quieting his daughter when she’s fussy. Well... his daughter isn’t drunk (that he knows of, unless Winona’s been hiding things), but it’s a close comparison. 

“What is it?” 

This time, Tim's sob hits the air. It’s a sharp sound, the likes of which he’s never heard uttered from his own mouth. He never expected to appear broken, to himself or anyone else. Still, if anyone’s going to hear and see it, he knows Raylan won’t rat him out. 

Raylan is eternally patient, more than he ever is in day-to-day life. He’s honestly surprised. Only time he sits still this long is when he’s asleep. 

When Tim calms, he’s too exhausted to provide an explanation. 

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you into bed. You can talk to me in the morning. Or don’t. Up to you, really.” 

Once Tim is sitting on the bed, he grabs Raylan’s sleeve. “Raylan.” 

“Yeah?” 

He takes a breath, more coherent than he was a few minutes previous. The distress in his expression is more concerning than anything else about tonight. “M’.... I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble. I know you didn’t sign up to clean up my mess.” 

Raylan presses a glass of water into the ranger’s hand, leaning down to loosen the laces of Tim’s boots. “Sure, I did. I came to get you. Now, stop apologizing and drink that.” 

Tim obediently drinks from the glass, wiping at his face. 

The hat-wearing marshal catches Tim staring at him with a question in mind. “What?” 

“You gonna tell Art?” 

Raylan hums. “I get the feeling you really don’t want me to.” 

“No.” 

“Well.... I think what I’m gonna do is call in sick. You can do the same in the morning so you can at least pretend you weren’t completely smashed.” 

“Raylan, you don’t gotta -” 

He puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder, easing him back until he’s laying down. “No, I don’t, but I want to. You need it, and as much as I’d like to believe I never need a break, I probably need it, too. Chasin' bad guys is the one thing I'm good at, but goodness knows it can wear you down.” 

Tim is quiet as he twists onto his side. Raylan turns out the light just as he opens his mouth. “Raylan?” 

“Yeah?” 

The ranger hates how pitiful he must sound, but he has to say something. “Thank you.” 

Raylan smiles, bobbing his head. “No problem. Tomorrow morning, I’ll see if I can’t rustle you up somethin’ greasy to eat. Maybe pancakes for me.” 

It’s only after Raylan closes the door that Tim sluggishly realizes the man was practically parenting him. 

Rachel and Art, too. 

He closes his eyes, wondering what he’s managed to wriggle himself into. It could almost be considered a semi-functional version of a family. 

_What the hell am I supposed to do with one of those?_


End file.
